A Winter Chill
by The Manic Magician
Summary: Baby bones AU. Despite Sans' warnings to stay inside on the eve of a snowstorm, Papyrus sneaks out to play with his friends.
1. Chapter 1: Papyrus

**A Winter Chill**

Chapter One: Papyrus

AN: Sans is 16, Papyrus is 7.

* * *

The shutters rattle with the force of the wind. The noise generated is just loud enough to irritate; Papyrus finds it hard to concentrate on his television show.

The front door suddenly swings open, and Papyrus trots over to greet his brother.

"Sans!" He tackles the taller skeleton in a hug. He smells of hotdogs and Hotland. Though it's still unpleasant, Papyrus will take it over the clinging stench of the Lab. Sans pats the crown of his skull genially.

"How was school today, Pap?"

"It was great! Super, super great!" Sans closes the door, then flops onto the couch. Papyrus follows him, bouncing on the couch cushion beside him.

Sans' grin widens further. "And what made this day in particular "super, super great"?"

"Ice Cap and Chilldrake invited me to a snowball fight later today." Well, they didn't _really_ invite him. He happened to overhear the older monsters talking about meeting by the river later that afternoon, and figured he'd join them. Papyrus would be a surprise friend!

But rather than the elation he expects on his behalf, Sans glances towards the window, the rattling shutters.

"Eh, you might need to take a rain check on that. Or rather, a snow check."

"What? But when it's snowing it's free to play in it!" Papyrus doesn't know much about these "taxes" that adults speak of all the time, beyond the fact that the accursed snowball tax is a constant fun destroyer in his life.

"This is supposed to be a really bad storm, Pap. We should stay inside until it blows over." He winks. "You could say this storm is "snow joke"."

Papyrus crosses his arms, and pulls the cutest face he can muster. " _Please_ , Sans? Just for a little while?"

"No, Pap." Sans is unfazed by Papyrus' cute face. Rude.

A loud burst of canned laughter from the television snags Sans' attention. He dials the volume down a bit with the remote.

"And if you've been watching TV, that means you've already finished all your homework, right?"

Papyrus shifts guiltily.

"Papyrus." Uh-oh. Whenever Sans says his full name, he means business.

The tiny skeleton scrambles off the couch, heading for his room.

"I'll do it right now!" He darts into his room, shutting the door behind him.

The temptation of the robot toys on his shelf is mighty, but he pushes past the impulse to stop and play with them for a while. His backpack rests against his desk chair. Reluctantly, he tugs the zipper open, laying out the notebooks for various subjects. He tries to start on his history homework, but his attention strays to the small clock on his desk. It's 4:02 right now. If he wants to meet up with Chilldrake and Ice Cap, he'll have to leave soon.

But how? Papyrus taps his pencil thoughtfully against his teeth. Sans is probably still downstairs, so he'd catch him if he ran out the front door.

"That's it!" He declares. If he can't use his home's normal exit, he'll have to create his own. Shoving the homework to the side, Papyrus scrambles atop his desk. He fumbles with the latches, unlocking the window. A gust of wind buffets him as he opens the window, but he shall not be deterred.

Now comes the tricky part. Papyrus takes a steadying breath, then raises his arms. A line of bones materializes in front of him, but then drop to the ground with a clatter, slightly muffled by the layer of snow at the bottom. Papyrus makes frustrated noises as he tries and fails to construct a ladder from his bone attacks.

"Why is this so hard?" He gripes. He thrusts his arms forward.

"Make a ladder!" A row of bones manifests and falls.

"Ladder!" Another row adds to the growing pile; sweat starts to bead on his skull.

He slumps back from the window, momentarily defeated. If he doesn't leave soon they'll start the snowball fight without him!

"This is a puzzling situation, for sure." He snaps his finger bones. "Of course! This is a puzzle. It can be solved, as soon as I figure out the trick."

As much as he tries otherwise, he can only form bone attacks in lines, not unique shapes or combinations. He resolves to ask Sans for more practice time later. For now, though, he'll have to work with the rows. Concentrating, he conjures up a new row, this time infusing the bones with blue magic. Sans had been impressed when he had summoned them so early. Papyrus was not so amazed. Why wouldn't he excel, when Sans was the best teacher there was?

He carefully guides the bones down, so they're only several feet off the ground. He summons a few more rows, forming a set of hovering steps.

Papyrus tentatively puts the shoe on the first step—it holds.

"Hey, Pap!" Sans' sudden call startles him badly, and he scrambles to maintain the tether between him and his attacks, lest they all collapse and he has to build them all again.

"What is it, brother?" He responds, sounding very calm and not at all like he is about to disobey Sans.

"Do you want pasta for dinner?"

A small thrill of joy runs through him.

"Of course!"

"It'll be ready in about an hour." How unwittingly helpful Sans is, giving him a time frame! Papyrus pockets the small clock, to make sure he gets home in time. He hesitates a moment to be sure Sans has finished speaking before he scoots back onto the window sill.

Papyrus steps onto the first row of bones, arms pinwheeling as he struggles to keep his balance. Once he's steadied, he carefully steps down onto the next row, and the next, and the next. He's overeager when he reaches the final step, and trips off it, face-planting into the snow. Some of it slips down his shirtfront, and he shakes the fabric, jostling the snow free.

Papyrus shivers—in hindsight, he should've grabbed his coat before heading out. He waves his hand, and the blue bones evaporate.

The bone pile from his previous ladder attempts is half-congealed in the snow, the magic in the attacks slowly draining off into the air. Papyrus pauses a moment to catch his breath. If he wants to fetch his jacket, he'll have to summon rows and rows of blue attacks again. As loathe as he is to admit it, even he can't continually call forth high level attacks like that. If he wants to build the steps up later for after his play, he'll have to conserve his magical power now.

So, forgoing the coat, he trots off in search of his soon-to-be-friends. He feels a flash of guilt, going behind his brother's back like this, but he shakes it off. Sans means well, but he doesn't know what he's talking about. Flurries drift down from the top of the mountain—hardly a catastrophic snow storm!

Papyrus jogs out of the town proper, to the stretch of forest that spans the distance between Snowdin and Waterfall. He then hangs a left, reaching the river. He spots Ice Cap and Chilldrake in the distance. They don't seem to have started the snowball fight yet; they're just chatting. He arrived just in time!

Papyrus slows to a casual walk as he approaches them. He sweeps a hand over his head, to slick back his hair in a cool way, but then remembers he doesn't have hair.

"H-Hello, friends! Papyrus has come to engage in the snowball fight!"

Chilldrake snickers. "Ice, why'd you invite this dweeb here?"

Ice Cap holds his large hat steady as he speaks, lest it topple off. "I didn't! I don't know what he's doing here."

Oh no! Papyrus has come on too strong. He dials back his enthusiasm a smidgeon.

"Um, if you don't want to have a snowball fight, that's alright too!" That hurts a bit to say. The snow is coming down in nice fat flakes now, the perfect consistency for packing snow. "We can just—just hang out! D-Do you guys like cars? We can talk about cars!"

Chilldrake shoves his beak near Papyrus' face.

"Beat it, kid. You're too mainstream to hang out with us."

"Yeah. We're rebels!" Pipes up Ice Cap.

Papyrus plants his hands on his hips. "I'm a rebel too."

"Yeah right." Ice Cap scoffs.

"Prove it then." Chilldrake challenges.

"I can do anything you dare me to! Just watch!"

Chilldrake thinks for a moment, then gestures towards the rushing river with one wing.

"Our parents always tell us to stay out of the river, 'cause it's "too dangerous". If you're really a rebel, you'll swim to the other side and back, with no magic."

Papyrus hesitates despite himself. Sans was always very adamant about him steering clear of the river. Even Ice Cap seems concerned with his friend's challenge.

"Chill, you don't think that's a bit too much? He's just a kid."

Any trepidation within Papyrus morphs into indignation. "I am not a baby bones!" He stomps his foot for emphasis.

"Go ahead then. Do it!"

Papyrus stomps towards the river bank. Ice Wolf must have finished his work for the day; no blocks of ice are being shuttled down to Hotland by the current.

He glances behind him. Chilldrake and Ice Cap are watching him intently. There's no backing out now. For friendship!

Papyrus plunges into the frigid river. The water weighs down his clothes, makes it hard to move forward, but he persists. The current tugs him downstream, but Papyrus cuts through to the other side with determination. He scrambles to shore, then strikes a triumphant pose.

"He made it, he actually made it!" He can barely hear Ice Cap over his chattering teeth, but the astonishment in his voice makes his chest puff up with pride.

"Y-You should never have doubted Papyrus!" He shouts over. The icy water feels like it's seeping into his bones, though he doesn't know how that could be possible.

"Come back over, Papyrus." Chilldrake referred to him by name! He's making progress towards friendship!

Papyrus charges back into the water, enthusiasm recharged. However, his body doesn't seem to be on the same page, sluggish and slow. He's halfway across and his limbs stop cooperating entirely, and he flails as he starts to be carried away by the current.

"H-Help!"

Papyrus sees Ice Cap and Chilldrake arguing, but the words exchanged between them are lost to him as he bobs under the water. He struggles to resurface, but fails, and is pulled further and further away.

As a skeleton, he can't choke or drown like many other monsters can. But it's still a very unpleasant sensation, being unable to breathe properly—and the cold temperature is like nothing he's ever felt before. Plus, if he dallies too long, he'll be tossed into the Core just like the ice blocks. Sans would not be happy.

He calls forth his magic, and it's oddly resistant at first, blue sparking at his fingertips but going no further. Putting his whole soul behind it, Papyrus creates a bone, larger than any of his normal attacks, and large enough to reach the riverbank. It stabs into the mud. It slowly drags a ways down thanks to the current, but soon becomes snugly stuck in the sediment.

Papyrus laboriously climbs the attack to reach the riverbank. As soon as he's out he curls in on himself, coughing to relieve himself of the sensation of _too much water_.

His shaking won't stop, his bones rattling. "Guess I'm…chilled to the bone. Nyeh heh." Sans would love that one.

He sits up. Oh no, _Sans_. Papyrus pulls out the clock. It's waterlogged, but miraculously still functional. His hour of time is nearly spent, but if he hurries, he can still make it home before his older brother notices he ever left.

Papyrus wearily picks himself up, and staggers back to his home. On his way, he stops by the area where he'd met with Chilldrake and Ice Cap, but all that remains are their footprints, already half-covered up by the falling snow. Can he call them his friends, now? He _did_ cross the river both ways, after all—it just took him a little longer than they all thought it would. Or would they begrudge him the use of his magic?

He staggers the rest of the way home, craning his neck up as he reaches the house. Good, his window is still open—that means Sans hasn't come in his room at all.

If he thought summoning the bone in the river was difficult, conjuring up the steps is a thousand times more trying. The bones are ill-formed, dripping apart. He hurriedly climbs them back into his room. Breathing hard, he closes and latches his window. He's made it.

But not quite. He plucks at his soggy clothing distastefully, and knows he needs to change. He shoves the wet ball of clothing under his bed, and just finishes tugging his shirt on when there's a knock at his door.

"Pap? Can I come in?"

Papyrus scrambles over to his desk, and flings open his history textbook to a random page.

"Sure!"

Sans steps inside, and his smile dips down a bit.

"It's cold in here." Papyrus is aware. Leaving the window open for so long has leeched away the room's warmth.

"I—I know! That's why I changed into my super warm studying clothes!" Papyrus would pat himself on the back for his brilliant excuse for both the cold and his new outfit, but then Sans might be suspicious.

The older skeleton starts poking around his room, and Papyrus tries not to stare at the evidence beneath his bed.

"What are you doing?"

Sans stops prodding at the ceiling. "I'm looking for where a draft could've gotten in." He shakes his head. "Nevermind that for now. You wanna eat?"

"Sure!" Anything to get Sans out of his room.

But when Sans puts the steaming plate of pasta before him, his stomach roils. The ambient heat of the meal feels good on his cold bones, but the thought of actually eating food is suddenly repulsive.

"What's wrong?" Sans watches him with concern.

"N-Nothing! I am just…appreciating the spaghetti. Savoring it." Sans doesn't look so convinced, so Papyrus shovels a forkful into his mouth, trying not to grimace.

The doorbell rings, tearing Sans' attention away from him. Papyrus has never been so relieved to hear the doorbell ring in his life.

Sans leaves the kitchen, and shambles over to open the door. Mrs. Drake stands there, Chilldrake fidgeting at her side. Papyrus has never been so _not_ relieved to hear a doorbell ring in his life.

"Evening, Mrs. Drake." He's grinning, but confusion is thick in his voice. Papyrus sinks down in his chair. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm so sorry to intrude like this, but my son needs to apologize to Papyrus."

"…For what?"

Papyrus sinks lower. If he sinks any lower, he'll be under the table.

Now it's Mrs. Drake's turn to be confused.

"For what happened at the river, of course." Then, more alarmed. "He did make it home, didn't he?"

"I was not aware he had left." Sans' voice is cold. "Come here, Papyrus."

Uh-oh.


	2. Chapter 2: Sans

**A Winter Chill**

Chapter 2: Sans

* * *

After Chilldrake runs through a fumbling apology, his mother steers him home before the snow cover gets any worse. Papyrus is quiet during the whole thing, nodding along to everything the older boy says and doing little else.

Once they've left, Sans gestures for Papyrus to sit on their couch. He twists and squeezes the hem of his shirt, hunching over to appear as small as possible.

Inwardly, Sans is fuming. How dare he, _how dare he_ , did he not realize he could've died? Or worse, if he'd reached the Core. Sans knows it's highly improbable that Papyrus would've been dragged such a distance, but irrationality and fear go hand in hand. Papyrus would've been forgotten, just like—

"Sans," Papyrus croaks out, disrupting his thoughts. "Are you—Are you mad at me?"

"I am." Sans confirms. Papyrus flinches, his shoes tracing erratic patterns in the carpet. "Do you know why?"

"B-Because I lied to you, and—and left the house when you said not to?"

Papyrus starts sniffling and, oh God, is he crying? Sans breaks his stern stance, and joins him on the couch, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

"I'm upset because I could have lost you, Pap."

Papyrus clings to him, and Sans is disturbed by how freezing he is to the touch.

"I just wanted to be friends with them."

If Sans could have his way, Papyrus would never cross paths with those two again. The stupid dare, he could reach down within himself and forgive. Children do dumb things by definition. But to leave his brother behind, as he cried out for help…those dirty cowards.

His eye must've flickered blue, because Papyrus reaches up, patting his left cheek.

"Don't be mad at them, please. I could've said no, so it was my fault."

If Sans could have his way, they'd never interact again—but Papyrus is Papyrus. His sweet baby bro will never see the worst in others as he does.

Papyrus sneezes, alerting Sans to a far more immediate problem.

"You've made yourself sick."

"Nonsense! I am perfectly fine—"

"Pap, you're still shivering." He'd been out in the snow, dunked in a river, and God knows what else. Of course he's getting sick.

Sans scoops the small skeleton up in his arms. Papyrus wriggles a bit, but gives in soon enough, letting Sans carry him up to his room.

The room has warmed up much already. Part of Sans is glad there wasn't actually a draft in the room—poking around the entire room to find the source would've been a pain in the ass.

He tucks Papyrus into his racecar bed, and gathers some additional spare blankets from the closet, piling them atop his brother.

"Sans," Papyrus complains. "I don't think this is really necessary."

"Humor me then, will ya?" He might not be too bad yet, but this is only a few hours after it happened; there's still time for it to develop into something much worse.

Sans momentarily leaves Papyrus' side, returning to the kitchen to fix him a simpler dinner, a hot, nutritious broth. He can't recall the last time his brother got sick, if ever.

"Dare I say, I'm ill-prepared." He chuckles quietly to himself.

Sans edges open Papyrus' door with his elbows, the full bowl of food carefully balanced in his hands. He frowns—Papyrus has already fallen asleep, snoring softly. Papyrus is like a freshly charged battery, always zipping around. Getting him to take naps when he was younger was one of the toughest challenges in Sans' life. For him to fall asleep so swiftly is concerning.

"Hey, bro?" He says softly. Papyrus stirs, pushing himself up into a sitting position, blinking sleepily. "Can you eat some of this for me?"

Papyrus nods and takes the bowl from him. He screws up his face in distaste, but schools his expression quickly into one of eagerness, hoping Sans doesn't notice. Sans notices.

Nevertheless, Papyrus begins to slowly eat. Sans runs through his options. He's not adept at healing magic himself—there's probably some correlation between that and his startlingly low HP, but that's a study for another time. He's started to make some connections with the locals since they moved to Snowdin, but none of the folks he's come to know specialize in healing magic either. The doctors in Hotland are simply too far away. He could make the trip there and back in the blink of an eye, but they wouldn't be able to. So there must be someone in Waterfall, surely? Doesn't the old "Hammer of Justice" live there?

"Brother," Papyrus looks positively green. "I don't f-feel well."

That's all the warning he gets before Papyrus abruptly pitches forward, hacking up the magical essence the broth broke down into. His movement spills the remainder of the soup, too, and it splashes his front and the top layer of covers.

"Oh jeez, Pap." Sans sets the bowl aside on the floor, and starts to help Papyrus out of his dirty shirt.

"I'm sorry." Papyrus' miserable apology is muffled as Sans tugs his shirt up over his head.

Sans gently taps their skulls together. "It's fine."

He roots through Papyrus' dresser, pulling out his one long-sleeved shirt. It's thin and threadbare with age, some cartoon characters he doesn't recognize plastered on the front. He resolves to hunt down some warmer wear for Papyrus after this is over—pickings are slim at the dump, and in the shops, but he'll find something.

After helping Papyrus into the clean clothing, Sans carelessly tosses off Papyrus' old shirt, and the layer of contaminated blankets, onto the floor. Even in the state he's in, Papyrus summons strength from within to scold him.

"Pick them up!"

"Eh, I'll do it later."

"You're hopeless!" Papyrus groans into his pillow.

"Listen, I need you to do me a favor, okay?" Papyrus rolls over to stare blearily up at him. He cracks a yawn. "I need to run out for a sec. Can you stay put here?"

Papyrus nods. Sans reaches down, giving his hand a squeeze.

"I mean it. Don't try to get up for anything." Last thing he wants is Papyrus tumbling down the stairs. "I'll be back before you know it."

"I promise. I mean it." Sans suspects he'll be out like a light the second he leaves the room, so with one final squeeze he lets go.

He doesn't bother leaving the house as he usually does; after quietly shutting Papyrus' door, he steps into one of his rifts. It takes him a minute to pick the correct exit point, as this isn't one of his usual destinations, but he soon tracks it down, and enters Waterfall with a soft _pop_ and the slightest disruption of the air.

Though the water level seems to be a touch higher than usual, Waterfall has escaped the worst of the storm. He's right outside the old merchant's shop, so without further ado he steps inside.

Gerson sits behind the counter, his items for sale lined up in neat rows. He's all alone in the store, idly polishing the wooden counter before him with a dubiously clean cloth. As Sans approaches he looks up, pausing his chore, weathered face crinkling into a smile.

"Hello, Sans." The monster has a keen memory. Papyrus had pleaded with him to stop for food during their move to Snowdin, and Sans, rarely able to refuse him, took him to Gerson's to pick up a quick snack. Sans and the turtle monster had bantered lightly back and forth as Papyrus chowed down—and that was their one and only interaction together. For him to still remember Sans' name is impressive.

"Gerson, I've come to ask a favor."

"Oh?" Gerson rests his chin on one claw.

"You know some healing magic, right?"

"Well I'm no doctor, but I'm darned qualified to be one by now, after all these years. Knowing how to heal yourself was essential during the war."

"Can you come see Papyrus?" Sans rushes out. "He's sick—he can't even keep down food—and I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

It feels like an admission of defeat. He braces for the judgment, for the questions about his parents. But to his surprise, none of that is forthcoming. Instead, Gerson rises from his chair, old bones cracking as he stretches.

"Of course I'll come." He places an "Out to Lunch" sign on the counter, shoves some herbs and medicines in a satchel, and is ready to leave in under a minute. And who said turtles were slow?

"Thank you."

"Just lead the way."

Since he can't teleport them back—he doesn't have a firm handle on transporting someone else along with him, not to mention the fact that he wants to hold this particular card close to his chest—they walk briskly to the River Person's station.

"Oh, I didn't bring—"

"Not to worry, son. I've got you covered." Gerson fishes out two gold coins from the depths of his pockets, and tosses them into the river. The water bubbles, and the River Person emerges from below, atop their wooden boat.

"Tra la la. Where to?"

Sans and Gerson climb aboard.

"Snowdin."

The River Person bobs their head in acknowledgement. Without them rowing or even seeming to summon their magic, the boat moves forward. On the trip over, Sans fills Gerson in on Papyrus' wild and dangerous escapade for the day. The River Person seems to speed up some as Sans explains the emergency, but it's hard to tell if that's true, or just a trick of his imagination; the River Person's boat never jostles its riders, just glides as if over a sheet of smooth ice.

When they pull up to Snowdin, they're greeted by a layer of snow, already a foot thick. The old monster is unperturbed, plowing his way through. Sans glances around the town as they head to his house. As he suspected, the town streets are empty, everyone huddled up inside their homes to wait out the storm.

Gerson politely wipes off his feet before he enters their home. Uncaring himself, Sans tracks mud and slush up the steps as he leads the monster to Papyrus' room.

He cracks open the door. Papyrus has curled up under the mound of covers, asleep again. Sans kicks the messy blankets and shirt into a corner of the room, and Gerson approaches Papyrus. Healing magic sparks to life on the monster's claws. Sans watches him closely as he places one glowing claw on Papyrus' skull. After a moment he releases him, magic dissipating into the air.

They're hardly out of the room again before Sans rounds on him, pressing him for information.

"Well?"

"Why don't we move downstairs, first?"

"Is it that bad? I didn't think—"

"Now son, calm down." He places a claw on Sans' shoulder. "You won't do your brother any good if you're panicking."

So it really is bad then? He practically vibrates with nervous tension. But Gerson rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

"With plenty of rest and care, he _will_ recover. Now that we've gotten that settled, can we go downstairs? This far into my life, my body doesn't appreciate me standing for long periods of time."

Sans flushes. "Sure thing."

As Gerson takes a seat on their creaky sofa, Sans rummages around the kitchen. He finds a clean mug, only lightly chipped, and fills it with water. The proper thing to give him in this situation would probably be a mug of tea, but all they have in their house is half a jug of milk (for strong bones) and some hot chocolate packets. He doubts the turtle monster wants either, so water it is.

Gerson accepts the mug, taking a sip. Sans tries not to fidget as he waits for him to speak.

"Papyrus' HP is holding steady for the moment," He rumbles. "He's not in any life-threatening danger."

Sans steels himself for the bad news.

"But. His MP is concerning."

"How low is it?"

"The boy's depleted _all_ of his magical energy. That's probably why he couldn't keep down any food. When a monster's—hey, now."

He cuts off his explanation, giving Sans a firm shake. Sans had zoned out after his first sentence. Zero MP. How could he have let his happen? Can Papyrus even recover from that? He's a horrible brother—

"Don't go panicking on me now. Magical exhaustion is fairly common in youngsters. Their magic is still climbing; they're never quite sure where their limits are."

"So he'll regain the magic he lost?"

"Yes. His magic needs time to regenerate its depleted stores, but it shouldn't take more than a few days." He rummages around in his satchel, producing a bottle of green liquid. Sans takes it, inspecting it. "Put three drops of this in his meals until he's well. It'll stabilize the magical energy in the food, so he'll be able to eat without his body rejecting it."

Gerson sets his half-empty mug on a nearby coffee table.

"You did well to get help. With the medicine, this'll blow over in a few days. Like this dratted storm will, hopefully." He quips. "I can come back in a few days to check on him, if you'd like."

Sans nods, grateful.

"Then with that, I had best be off. There's a little fish monster in Waterfall that'll be kicking up some trouble soon if I'm not there to corral her."

Sans offers to accompany Gerson back to the River Person, but the turtle monster waves him off.

Sans sets the bottle on the kitchen counter, so it doesn't accidentally shatter in his pocket. He'll test it out tomorrow morning.

For now, he returns to Papyrus' room. He's shifted a bit in his sleep, but hasn't awoken again, as far as Sans can tell. Sans pulls out Papyrus' desk chair so he can sit at his brother's bedside. The chair's a bit small for him, but it's not as if his bones weigh too much more than Papyrus'. It won't break. He supposes he could go into his own room to fetch a more appropriately-sized chair from there, but whatever. Sans can sleep on any surface, no matter how uncomfortable, if he wants it hard enough.

The pinpricks of light in his eye sockets dim as he starts to drift off. If Papyrus needs him, he'll be here.

* * *

Sans is awoken next morning—early morning, by his standards—by wet-sounding coughs.

Papyrus is awake too, frowning up at him.

He winks. "Morning, Sunshine."

Papyrus grumbles something unintelligible.

"You feeling any better?"

"…Worse," Papyrus admits.

Sans presses the back of his hand to Papyrus' forehead. In stark contrast to how icy cold he felt yesterday, he feels as if he took a dip in the magma around the Core.

"What do you want for breakfast?" He stands, heading for the door.

Papyrus perks up. "Pasta—"

"— _Besides_ pasta." Papyrus slumps a bit. "Maybe something a bit less heavy?"

"…Eggs?"

"Now that's more reasonable." And doable. If Papyrus asked for pancakes, he'd be boned. It's been several weeks since the Pancake Incident, and every now and then he still tries to scrape that flapjack off the ceiling, to no avail. But eggs, on the other hand, are a difficult meal to mess up.

Once in the kitchen, Sans quickly whips up some scrambled eggs. He unscrews the cap on the bottle, and carefully tips it so three drops spill out onto the meal. The eggs glow green for a moment, then fade back to their normal yellow as the medicine settles.

As he hands Papyrus his breakfast, he can't help but spot how his legs bounce a bit under the covers. Papyrus is a hyperactive monster—being cooped up in bed like this can't be too fun for him.

"Do you want me to read you a story?" That would help pass some time, at least.

Overeager, Papyrus tries to talk mid-chew, nearly choking on the eggs. He takes a big gulp to swallow them down. He doesn't seem queasy; the medicine must be doing its job.

"Y-Yes! Please."

Sans shuffles over to the bookshelf, considering his options from the array of children's books he's scavenged over the years. But really, for a day like today, there's only one possible choice.

Papyrus' face lights up as he returns with _Peek-a-Boo with Fluffy Bunny_. He shoves his empty plate away from him, getting situated for story time.

"Alright, here we go." Sans clears his throat, then pitches his voice a tad higher to reach his "reading voice". "Fluffy Bunny has gone missing in the garden, and all her friends are out looking for her. Can _you_ help find Fluffy Bunny?"

He looks up from the book, waiting for Papyrus' habitual, emphatic nod before he continues on. But his little brother looks unusually distressed.

"Pap?"

His mandible starts quivering. Oh, shit.

"Why doesn't anybody like me?"

Shit shit shit.

"Why would you think something like that?" Is the fever making him act erratic?

Papyrus' fingers tangle in the blankets.

"I keep trying to make friends at school, but nothing ever works." He looks up at Sans, tears budding in his eyes. "Is there something wrong with me?"

" **No**." He must be a touch too forceful, as Papyrus cringes. He softens his tone. "Never think like that. You're my greatest little bro in the whole underground."

He slings an arm around Papyrus, wanting to hug the negativity out of him.

"I'm your only brother in the whole underground." Papyrus retorts, but curls closer.

"Doesn't make it less true." Papyrus has always been…different. And he happens to be at that unfortunate age where others shy away from people different from them like lepers.

"How 'bout this, then. You wanted to have a snowball fight with the other kiddos, didn't you?" He feels Papyrus nod against his arm. "Well once you get better, there will still be plenty of snow left for us to play in. Probably even enough to make forts, too."

Papyrus draws apart from him a bit, squinting incredulously.

"My lazybones brother…willingly offering to exercise?"

"Why you—" He lightly noogies Papyrus; the younger skeleton flails, trying and failing to break free. "That was a low blow, Pap."

"Nyeh heh heh—stop, stop!"

Sans releases him, but makes a show of still being insulted. "Maybe you've got a point, though. Maybe playing out in the snow is too much work for me after all."

"No! No! I mean—thank you, brother." He giggles softly. "Can we build a Snow Papyrus and a Snow Sans, too?"

His wide smile warms Sans' soul. His own grin widens.

"Of course, Pap."


End file.
